A Golden Thread
by sallydurant
Summary: If you look at their group on the outside you would not think them close. Amiable? Yes, but nothing more. You would be wrong. (Modern AU)


A/N: I'm beta-less at the moments so I apologize for any mistakes I didn't catch.

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Jehan wasn't worried. He wasn't. So what if it was half past six in the morning and his roommate wasn't home yet. That was normal behaviour. Well maybe not so normal for this time, but still. No reason to worry yet.

When he heard Grantaire's key turn in the door he sighed in relief and shut his eyes from where he was on the couch. He didn't want to make it look like he was waiting up for him, even though he totally was. His roommate always came home, even if it was with company, so he wouldn't trouble the poet's soul but this was the latest he'd ever come back. Jehan heard him stumble about in the kitchen, probably looking for some water or more booze by how intoxicated he seemed, and he briefly checked the time on his phone. 6:45AM. He tried to even out his breathing before Grantaire went to his room so he wouldn't catch wise.

It was a wasted effort.

Grantaire switched on the light and shoved at Jehan, not lightly at all, and sat next to him. It was only then that Jehan was able to take in Grantaire's red rimmed eyes. He exhaled sharply before taking Grantaire into his arms and whispering bits and pieces of poetry into his ears, some original, some not. Grantaire started to cry afresh and Jehan only held him tighter.

It was a ritual they'd formed since they were in primary school. Grantaire would comfort Jehan by drawing, or if he had the time painting, him.

He would let him pick his favourite sketch with a watery smile, and it would go in a book that Jehan kept under his bed.

Jehan on the other hand, would simply do this.

When they both left home, they roomed together for the first year of university on request and then moved into their own little flat - with a tiny room for Grantaire to do his sketches and paintings and a small garden for Jehan to sit and meditate - ten minutes away from school. Their mutual bond was because of their art. And it was how they communicated with each other.

If you look at their group on the outside you would not think them close. Amiable? Yes, but nothing more. You would be wrong. They didn't need to be exuberant about it. They didn't need to text each other every five seconds, or sit in the corner of The Musain and whisper in each other's ear.

It was the way Jehan would gently pat Grantaire's head twice before saying "You're talking too much."

The way Grantaire would place his hand on the small of Jehan's back as a reminder that not everyone understands him when he starts off in a flurry about literature.

The way Grantaire has to show Jehan anything he makes before he can feel validated.

The way Jehan twists the end of his braid nervously until he sees Grantaire in the crowd of one of his poetry readings.

The way they always know when the other is angry or sad, or needs space or what cuts the deepest.

This was their friendship.

This was what made them who they were

They'd met in primary when Jehan was kicked out of math for waxing a poetic litany of the injustices of the world, most importantly the crime of forcing fractions into the mind of the young when they'd much rather be outside running around in a grassy field. It was met with a nice round of applause and a week's detention.

Grantaire had gotten suspended for crude, albeit gorgeous, sketchings of his art teacher topless. His teacher gave him an A and a week's suspension.

They met in the principal's office.

Ah and isn't that the place where true unions are formed.

Now I must take a break to stress the magnitude of this interlude to the reader. You know nothing of a person until you know their back story.

It sometimes happens that two people meet and nothing needs to be said and a lifetime friendship is formed. When two artists meet, two souls are joined and it is a magical moment that transcends simple childish delinquency. And so Grantaire and Jehan met and they loved each other without saying a word.

They were instant friends because of the way they saw the beauty of the world. They'd spend their weekends in the garden in Jehan's backyard. Grantaire would bring a canvas and some pastels, which he knew how to use better since his mother enrolled him in an art class, Jehan would bring his notebook and his pen and write about everything; the bees, the flowers, the butterflies, the earth, Grantaire. They were each other's only friends for a long time. They spent their summers together, their holidays, everything except Christmas since both of their families holidayed at that time. However they always brought back something they found special as a gift; be it a flower, a paintbrush, some strange new music, headphones or a bracelet. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it made them think of each other. They were young, and they were free, ___and they were happy_.

It took them a few years, but their view of the world shifted. Maybe it happened the day they entered secondary school, maybe it was the summer before, maybe it was a gradual thing that was inevitable but it happened.

Jehan saw the splendour in the blooming of a flower, the rising of the sun, the short lives of the butterflies and their inevitable death. The flowers braided into his hair were there because he'd rather the flowers die in his hair where everyone else can see its brilliance, than to be trampled by the ungratefulness of mankind. He saw magnificence and sought to nurture it, to add to it, to speak of it, to let it blossom.

It had the opposite effect on Grantaire.

He also saw how exquisiteness of how the world worked. With that, he also saw how easily it could be damaged. He saw how greed could cause poverty, how ignorance and anger could cause death, how the desperation of a man could lead to his downfall. He saw the basic composition of human follies that lie within every man and how dangerous it could be to the people surrounding them. Oh how it shattered his young heart.

Jehan grew optimistic and Grantaire grew embittered.

One exuded positivity and the other cynicism.

One found more causes to fight for and one was resigned to the fact that nothing he could possibly do would help.

One turned to the bottle to soothe his woes, and the other turned to dusty books.

In reality, they both became as strong and as fragile as their personal view on humankind.

Now that you have a proper grasp on these two people, my dear reader, we can resume our tale.

"Why does it hurt so much?" Grantaire whimpered. "It's fucking hard. I can't do it."

"Hush now little dove." Jehan gently stroked Grantaire's hair from where his head was rested in his lap.

Grantaire choked out a laugh. "You haven't called me that in years." He heaved a deep sigh before whispering "Why couldn't I be in love with you."

"We'd work well together until I start trailing dirty rose petals into your bed." Jehan teased. "Then you might kill me."

"I like roses." Grantaire mumbled weakly.

"You ___hate_ roses."

Jehan kissed the top of his head. "Enjolras is an ass."

"No he isn't."

"No. I suppose not." Jehan supplied. "But he hurt my platonic life partner so that makes him an ass."

_"____Your platonic life partner?"_

"Yes. We're soul mates my darling capital R." Jehan said tugging at him so he'd sit up. "Anything romantic between us would feel incestuous," Grantaire huffed out a laugh "But our hearts belong to each other. Our souls have met and they are intertwined."

Grantaire flung his hands around Jehan's neck and breathed deeply. And that was all the thank you he was going to get, and truthfully it was all he needed. They sat like that for what felt like hours, but quite possibly were only minutes.

Jehan eventually led Grantaire to his bed, where they curled into each other and slept soundly.

When Grantaire woke up, he was in Jehan's bed surrounded by blankets and smelling like freesia. ___Jehan did like his flowers. _He groaned and rolled to the left side of the bed where, as he expected, lay two ibuprofen and a glass of water. He took the tablets hurriedly and gulped the water down before racing to the bathroom to relieve himself. He strolled into the living room and sank into the couch. He didn't drink enough last night to leave him with anything other than a killer headache and a heavy bladder. He heard Jehan shuffling around the kitchen and sighed gratefully. Jehan always took care of him after a rough night.

True to the word Jehan walked over to their couch with two cups of tea and settled beside Grantaire, handing him a cup. "It's chamomile."

Grantaire groaned as he took a sip and turned to his friend. "It was my fault. You don't need to terrify him today."

Jehan's faux astonished countenance only succeeded in making Grantaire laugh. "You can scare even Bahorel if you wanted to. You're scary when you need to be ducky."

"Yet I've never been able to scare you out of calling me "ducky"."

"Oh you don't scare me anymore ___ducky_." Grantaire said with a cheeky grin. His smile faded as he continued. "After you, and everyone else left, I stayed and I kind of ended up irritating him into yelling at me."

At Jehan's knowing look Grantaire carried on. "I know. It's dumb, but what's that saying? ___All press is good press?_ I just wanted him to know I was there, that I'm a person, that I occupy space, breathe air. I just wanted to be noticed. Oh Narcissus! Thy name is Grantaire! It is my fault. It was me."

Jehan started to rub Grantaire's back "What did he say?"

"Ah the usual," Grantaire moaned. "It would suit me if he hated me. I wish he hated me. Isn't that strange? I love him, but it would soothe my mind to know he hated me."

"You're getting off track love."

"___You could be so much better than this_ he said." Grantaire's face pleaded with Jehan who looked as if he was about to agree. "You could be so much better than this. He expects too much. Things I cannot give. Things I can't be. We were not all born with wings. We cannot be expected to soar as easily as he. Some of us have to grow our wings, and some of us are impotent in that aspect. I have tried to be more than I am. I have. Jehan you know this, but it cannot be. I can't. ___I can't._ I've tried. ___I've tried_. I've failed. Every. Time. Change is not for me. You know I believe it is impossible for most men, but even more so for me. Old dogs and new tricks. Ha! Humans are dogs on their best day."

"You are wrong." Jehan started and hurried on before Grantaire could give a monologue of a rebuttal. "You can change. You are capable. You are stronger than you think. You're a survivor. And one day, one day when you can finally see how much you're worth to me, to our friends, to yourself; you will be able to change. Until then I will be here for you. Every step of the way my friend. Every step. You need a rock to hang on to, and sadly I'm just a branch. The river will roughen and you need to hold on. Hold on to me. I'm your branch. You hold me! Hold me until I break because you are ___my_ rock Grantaire. I am not letting you go. So don't let ___me_ go."

Tears threatened to spill from both their eyes. "I won't." Grantaire murmured; and then soft enough that Jehan barely heard him he whispered. "You ___are_ my rock." And then louder he continued. "You're my rock Jehan. You're the reason I'm still here. I...maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe I'm wrong inside because I need all the rocks I can get. I need enough that I can create an island, or I'll get washed away. I need you. I need Enjolras. I need Courfeyrac, and Combeferre, and Joly, and Bossuet, and Bahorel, and Feuilly, and even Marius. I need you all. But I need you the most Jehan. I can't do anything without you. I love you in a different way than I love Enjolras. I need him to make me feel real, to make me alive, to make me think I could believe again. To think I could find faith again. But I need you too. I need you to ground me and keep me strong. As strong as I could possibly be, because I can't be strong. Not without you. You ___are_ my rock."

Jehan was crying freely now and for the second time in less than ten hours Grantaire's arms were around Jehan's neck and they breathed in sync.

* * *

The title is based on this quote by an unknown source

"Friendship is like a golden thread that binds two hearts."


End file.
